As A Button
by badriddance
Summary: Watchmen/Coraline crossover, from a kinkmeme prompt. If the Beldam seeks out unhappy children, who could've been unhappier than Walter? There may be Mirrormask in future chapters.


The child had been missing for a day and a half. The search had led from normal places to strange ones, old and crumbling in a rundown part of town. There were signs, little footsteps in the dust, candy wrappers, even a little doll that bore a strong resemblance to the child in the picture. Then, Nite Owl found the door.

Rorschach saw it too and froze, even his blots stopped moving for a moment. Then, he was grappling with his partner, dragging him away from it.

"What?? What's wrong?" Nite Owl sputtered. "Why not? It's the perfect size for a kid!"

"Don't have a key."

"Since when has breaking locks offended you?"

"Can't be left unlocked. Ever."

"What?"

He knew he wasn't making any sense. How was he supposed to explain when he only halfway understood? He remembered her. His Other Mother. Clean and unmarked, plump in a way that was motherly, not overfed, she had been smiling and proper. She had been aghast at his bruises and burns and tended to him as gently as an angel, even if he had been eyeing her suspiciously the whole time.

Eyeing. Her own eyes were buttons, hard and bright. Too hard and bright. But she had made him waffles ala mode and chocolate milk and read him a story about Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. The book had pictures as vivid as stained glass and she had made him a quilt of bright cloth that moved and shifted to tell him tapestry stories as he curled in it. Overwhelmed, he had fallen asleep in her arms and she sang to him a song he sometimes still remembered when he was on the edge of sleep.

"Find another way," he insisted aloud. Nite Owl looked at him hard through the goggles, but had trusted him enough to get up and try to find the other side of the wall. They went out looking past a small flight of stairs. The dust on them was undisturbed. Rorschach remembered another attic, the Other Attic. The Other Mother had led him up other stairs, promising him a surprise and he had followed, ready to run as soon as the surprise turned nasty.

The attic had been full of toys and there had been a younger boy there, playing by himself. He had button-eyes too, fabric-covered, soft-brown suede. He had whooped and had thrown himself happily at young Walter to hug him.

"This is your Other Brother," the Other Mother explained.

"I don't have a brother!" Walter had protested, already being tugged by the arm to go play. The Other Mother's face had crumpled sadly.

"Your mother on that side didn't take proper care of him," she said. She brightened suddenly. Too suddenly. "But I kept mine safe! You two have fun."

And they had. They had played all day. The Other Brother was goofy and clumsy and utterly devoted. He was full of good ideas and always made Walter out to be the hero in the games. He hung on his arm and marveled at how good it was to have such a cool brother that Walter was almost sorry when they were called down to eat steaming bowls of chicken and dumplings with buttery green beans and fried cinnamon apples. She had poured them both cold glasses of tea so sweet that it had been gritty at the bottom and tucked them both in under the story-telling quilt and they had giggled and snuggled until Walter had woken up cold and alone under his own ratty blanket.

"Who built this house anyway?" Nite Owl groused. "All halls and doors and hardly any rooms!"

"Built in 30s. Railroad money. Didn't last. Sealed it off into separate apartments to allow boarders."

Nite Owl started to hammer on the wall with his fist.

"If you can hear me," he called. "Knock back! If you can." Only silence. Nite Owl's face fell. "God. what I wouldn't give to take somebody good news for once."

Rorschach grunted in agreement, but his mind was elsewhere. He remembered the night she had said that.

"Good news!" she had said. "Tonight your father is coming home."

"My father never comes home," he had told her flatly, refusing to even hope.

"Not to _her_, maybe," the Other Mother scoffed. "But your Other Father is a good man and we'll be a family again soon. You'll see." She booped him on the nose and went in to cook a welcome home dinner.

That night, as the sun set, and the sky was golden red, a soldier came to their door. He had red hair and a deep voice and dark buttons for eyes, but Walter hadn't really been able to focus on anything after that. He had shyly answered questions and been petted and hugged by rough, warm hands. It was all a blur of too good to be true and that night, in the bed, under the quilt, with the warm press of his Other Brother against his side, he had decided.

He was ready to let her do it. He got up to find her, to tell her that she could sew the buttons on. He didn't care if it hurt, didn't care if he was _blind_. He would do it if it meant having this life and never going back to the old one. But the house was different in the dark, old and rotted, and when he opened the door to the Other Mother's room it was like the inside of a spider's cocoon and tangled in threads like a trapped fly or a big marionette hung the empty shell of the soldier who had claimed to be his father.

He took a step back and bumped into his brother. The younger boy seemed to be deflating. He tried to hold his chest and belly up in his hands as they dripped to the floor. He wasn't real either. None of it was.

"Don't cry," the boy whispered. Walter hadn't been aware of the tears. "Mother's tired from making all this for you. When she wakes up, it will all be nice again. For you. She wants you so much! She won't need me much longer, but maybe she'll make me into something else and we can still play. Maybe a dog. I was a dog for the girl she brought here. Do you like dogs?"

He had been melting like ice cream and Walter grabbed what remained of his arm and pulled him. He had ran, pulling the smaller child after. They had gone through the tunnel, through the door, and once it was shut, he had realized that there nothing but an empty set of clothes in his hand. He held it up and two suede buttons fell out. He had kept the buttons for awhile in case his little brother still could see through them. Then, it had seemed more likely that the Other Mother could see through them and he had put them in an old coke bottle with the key and let it go down the storm drain.

The sound of a lock turning snapped him out of it. Nite Owl heard it too. They ran back the way they had come in time to see a girl, mouth still bright and sticky from some treat, coming out of the door and turning the key in the lock behind her. Rorschach pounced like a cat, catching her arm and making her scream.

"Geez, Rorschach, no need to scare the kid," Nite Owl began, but it trailed off as Rorschach snatched the key from her hand.

He shoved her towards Nite Owl and examined the key. How had she gotten it? How had it found its way back? He checked the door, making sure it was locked. Before he could reconsider, he pulled his mask up halfway and forced the key down his throat. He gagged on it, but swallowed hard, feeling it scrape.

"Uh," said Nite Owl. The girl just stared.

"Better this way," he told her.

"Yeah?" Some belligerence made its way through her initial shock. "Like how?"

"Can't eat your eyes this way."

"She wouldn't have-"

"Yes." He was suddenly an inch from her face. "She would've. Wear this for a reason." he added as she opened her mouth to argue. He pointed dramatically at the mask bunched over his eyes. Her mouth closed with a snap. Nite Owl was mystified, but played the benevolent hero until the girl was safely home and they were safely headed back to the Nest.

"You want to explain this to me?" he asked.

"Knew that if she went through that door, she would only get out by her own choice," Rorschach said.

"And?"

"Was right."

"Don't even _try_ to leave it there, man." The warning was good-natured, but still a warning.

"Won't believe me."

"Try me. Tell me a story."

"Wouldn't understand. Never had to escape from… when you were a child…you never… never _had_ to…" He trailed off, looking away for a long moment. Nite Owl waited quietly for him to look back.

"Try me," he said again.


End file.
